


Tinker, Tailor, Gardener, Spy

by Nyssa23



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Character of Color, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Genetic Modification, Male Friendship, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyssa23/pseuds/Nyssa23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bashir comes to visit Garak's shop. Set after the events of Ep. 514, "Doctor Bashir, I Presume?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tinker, Tailor, Gardener, Spy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kastaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kastaka/gifts).



For once, Elim Garak was genuinely surprised. Of all the visitors he'd had to his shop that week, this one was the most welcome, and least expected. The Tellarite ambassador's dressing gown could wait, he decided--particularly since the ambassador had insisted on a most unflattering turquoise fabric.

"Doctor! It's about time you took my advice on updating your wardrobe." Garak smiled and inclined his head, gesturing toward the clothing on display.

Giving a nervous laugh, Dr. Julian Bashir walked into the shop and looked around slowly. "Well, it has come to my attention that I might need a bit of help in that department, so I thought I'd just drop by after duty shift. Dax told me I should be wearing brighter colors. Can't imagine whom she might have been discussing that with." He cast a sidelong glance at Garak.

"I've always thought Dax a very sensible woman." Garak's eyes twinkled as he reached for his measuring sensor. "Now, I'd ask you what sort of suit you were thinking about, but I'm already well aware of your deplorable taste in clothing. So if you don't mind, I'd just as soon you leave this to me." Ushering Bashir into a better-lit section of the shop, Garak began to walk around the human, chin in hand, tut-tutting and shaking his head while muttering to himself. Occasionally he pointed the sensor: now down the line of Bashir's leg, now across the curve of his back. "Dreadful, these Starfleet uniforms. I certainly hope they're more useful than they are attractive. But, considering they're not in the least attractive, I suppose that isn't saying much at all."

Bashir began to raise a hand, then thought better of it. "In all honesty, Garak, I, well, I didn't just come here to talk about getting new clothes." He looked over cautiously to see how the Cardassian reacted to this information.

His head turned away from Bashir, Garak permitted himself a small smile. _Of course not._ The tailor walked deliberately over to a rack stacked high with bolts of cloth and felt the nearest one. "No? Then, my dear doctor, please enlighten me. Is there something else I can help you with?" Garak held up the edge of some thick scarlet fabric and glanced back over his shoulder. Perhaps he was just growing old, but the young doctor's company pleased him.

"I suppose you've heard about what happened while Dr. Zimmerman was here." Bashir let the edge of the sentence trail off.

Suddenly back at Bashir's side, Garak peered closely into the human's eyes. "It appears, Doctor," he murmured, "that you are no stranger to keeping secrets yourself." Turning on his heel, he headed for another bolt of cloth, this one bright blue. "If, as I surmise, you're speaking about the matter of your genetic enhancements, let me put your mind at ease. I knew about those long ago."

Spluttering, Bashir whirled around to face Garak. "But how could you have known?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how foolish they sounded. Of course Garak had known all along.

"Let's not dwell on such minutiae, Doctor." Garak brought the bolts of scarlet and blue cloth, as well as one of a deep green, over to a work table in the corner of the shop. "I must mention, however, how very impressed I am that you managed to keep it a secret from everyone else for so long. In my experience, humans have a difficult time concealing any advantage they have over others of their species."

Bashir looked down. "It wasn't easy. But there was such a lot at stake. I had to learn when to hold myself back so as not to attract suspicion. And all the time, I had to live with the fact that I wasn't, that I hadn't been, good enough for my parents as I was."

"Ah, but there it is, Doctor," Garak said with a wave of his measuring sensor. "Was it not one of your Earth poets who said, 'It is impossible to please all the world and one's father'?"

"Yes, Jean de La Fontaine. So human literature is another of your specialties." Bashir shook his head and laughed a little, feeling as though Garak had answered a question Bashir hadn't really known how to ask. "Enhancements or not, you put me to shame, Garak. After all, it took me weeks to get through _The Never-Ending Sacrifice_. And as for _Meditations on a Crimson Shadow_..."

Garak smiled over the bolts of cloth. "Does it not benefit one to know something about the people one lives among? To be able to sprinkle a few words of wisdom in their own language to smooth a conversation, to ease a business transaction?"

Bashir leaned over the table. "Is that the kind of thing they teach in the Obsidian Order?"

Now it was Garak's turn to shake his head slowly. "Really, Doctor. Such an imagination! I can't imagine why you'd ask something like that of a mere tailor like myself." He straightened and gestured towards the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have quite a bit of work ahead of me. I thank you for your visit, and I will let you know as soon as your suits are ready."

Bashir smiled tightly and nodded. _Fair enough._ He'd hoped to get something more out of Garak about Garak's own past, but that door remained as stubbornly closed as ever. "Good night, Garak. Lunch tomorrow?"

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it. I very much look forward to discussing _Meditations on a Crimson Shadow_ with you." Bashir groaned inwardly at that; another late night of reading lay ahead.

Once Bashir had rounded the corner, Garak locked the door to the shop. He sketched a quick design on a nearby PADD, thinking as he did so how the cloth would fall along the doctor's shoulders and collarbone. He tapped the PADD's surface, then closed his eyes, concentrating intently for a second as he shut out the memory of Enabran Tain's voice. Opening his eyes again, Garak continued working as if nothing had happened, listening to the hum of the station around him.


End file.
